


Sacrifices

by Melawen_C



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anger, Betrayal, Coda, Emotional Roller Coaster, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melawen_C/pseuds/Melawen_C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan feels betrayed by Ragnar's actions, but perhaps not for the reasons he suspects.<br/>Set after 3x08 (Sacrifice).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifices

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Athelstan has been through a lot lately and I suspect his emotional state is fragile/confused/overwhelmed (not discounting what has to be a fair amount of Stockholm Syndrome thrown in there, too...) and although I'm hoping we get some explanation or resolution about this episode, I still needed to write this!
> 
> _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Athelstan sat outside in the cool night air. He did not wish to be in the tent where Ragnar, Lagertha and the children all slept soundly. He could not sleep. Images of Leif’s death still lingered as he closed his eyes. It was not the first time he’d seen men die, but knowing that it might’ve been him in Leif’s place – knowing that Ragnar wished it that way – added betrayal to the loss.

It was still well before dawn when Ragnar emerged from the tent, stretching and turning his face to the sky. Athelstan knew he had been sleeping most of the night, but perhaps not well, for his eyes looked weary.

Ragnar approached slowly and sat down beside him, not waiting for any invitation, though, until now, Athelstan had not had a reason to refuse him.

“You are angry with me,” Ragnar stated knowingly.

“I’m hurt,” Athelstan corrected.

Ragnar turned sharply, his gaze sweeping over Athelstan’s body.

“Who has injured you?” he asked, not understanding, his voice low and threatening.

Athelstan looked back coldly. “You would have had me die. Do not speak as if I matter.”

Ragnar sighed, frustrated. “But you do.”

Athelstan shook his head in disbelief. “Yet you brought me here, willing to sacrifice me, and you did not tell me. Did not ask me.”

“Would you have said ‘yes’?”

“You did not allow me the chance,” Athelstan muttered, rising to his feet to put some distance between them.

Ragnar, determined as always, followed.

“Would you have said ‘yes’?” he asked again, curious.

Athelstan turned to him. He could feel anger stirring in him.

“Do you not see? You gave me a place in your home, entrusted me with your children… You spoke with me as a man, not a slave. You never treated me cruelly or gave me cause to doubt you. Until now.”

“I did not think it cruel to offer you the honor-”

“You did,” Athelstan interrupted, “or you would not have kept it secret.”

Ragnar regarded him calmly and it irked Athelstan. He wanted him to react; he wanted more than apathy. He wanted to _matter._

“Does your god not teach forgiveness?” Ragnar provoked.

“Do not act as though you know my God,” Athelstan hissed. 

“Then do not pretend to know ours!” Ragnar roared, causing Athelstan to flinch. “Do not dress like us and act like us. Do not lie and say that you believe.”

Athelstan could feel his face flushed; his hands were shaking. “If I believed in your gods, I would curse you, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

All the air rushed out of his body as he was slammed up against a tree, Ragnar’s hands rough on his shoulders. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes and Athelstan determinedly did not look away, though his heart pounded and his body tensed.

He stood, staring at him, both waiting for the other to react but Ragnar did nothing more. He could sense his ire falter as Ragnar’s breath steadied and his hands loosened their hold on him.

“I do not want to die,” Athelstan whispered truthfully, “but I might have done so, if you’d asked.”

Ragnar pressed their foreheads together, his hand curved around Athelstan’s neck.

“You asked me once, why I spared your life.”

His breath was warm on Athelstan’s face.

“I still cannot say. I do not _know,_ Athelstan.”

There was something about the way his name fell from Ragnar’s lips, halting and broken. He was the only one who said it; the others merely called him _priest._ Everything was being taken from him, slowly, even his name. He felt lost and alone so much of the time… but not here, not when Ragnar was stroking his face and murmuring his name, again and again, as though he were lost as well.

Athelstan leaned in, hesitantly, until their lips met.

It was a desperate kiss, nothing like what he shared with Thyri, though the memory of that was hazy, elusive. This was sharp and hot and consuming. Ragnar’s mouth coaxed his open and Athelstan found, as he’d imagined, that Ragnar kissed like he did everything – powerfully and relentlessly. The anger that had been stirred inside him burned into a low ache that left him gasping and pulling at Ragnar, wanting him closer, wanting to feel more, to feel _wanted._

“If what you offer the gods does not matter, then it is not a sacrifice,” Ragnar murmured, his mouth at Athelstan’s throat.

It should not have been enough to comfort Athelstan.

He hated that it was.


End file.
